


Groundhog Date

by GingerTodgers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blind Date, Cereal Cafe, Chubby Harry, Chubby Scorpius, Fat positive, Groundhog Day, Hipsters, Humour, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-01-17 06:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12359124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerTodgers/pseuds/GingerTodgers
Summary: Draco and Harry both have dates at London's newest cereal cafe with a man called Liam. Unfortunately there is no sign of Liam, the waitress insists that they share a table, and every time Draco attempts to storm off in a huff the disastrous not-a-date starts again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [inspiration for Harry](http://gingertodgers.tumblr.com/post/169011610280/fan-cast-of-harvey-guillen-as-harry-potter-its)

In a previous life the restaurant had been a computer repairs shop and it still had the old sign above the door. _PC Doctor_ in faded green with a drawing of a man holding a stethoscope against a smoking laptop. In front of the building a slate sandwich board blocked the pavement, advertising the shop’s reinvention into **Cereal Monogamist: popup cereal cafe!!**

The sound of Tori Amos singing _Cornflake Girl_  greeted Draco as he peered through the condensation-streaked windows and, for the 1000th time, cursed whatever Malfoyian inbreeding had made is physically impossible for him to say ‘no’ to Pansy.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Draco’s phone flashed with a message from ‘Pussy-Patrol-Parkinson’: a string of aubergines, followed by a pair of underpants, a kissy face, a moon, a glass of wine, and a snake. Pansy had been trying to set Draco up with Liam the Underwear Model for months and had eventually enlisted Draco’s son in her ongoing campaign to “replace that broomstick up your bum with something far more pleasant.” Although Scorpius Malfoy remained blissfully unaware of the campaign’s title.

Draco winced again at the memory of Scorpius’ strained reassurances that he “really wouldn’t mind if you wanted to, um, you know, um, meet... someone, a person... you know, for, um... dating, dad.”

The entire exchange had been torturous for both father and son, especially as halfway through Scorpius’ seventh stuttered “er, you know” Draco had been forcibly reminded of Potter at the same age. In his hurry to reject the idea that his darling Scorpius could in any way resemble the muttering, shuffling, gormless teen-Potter, Draco had agreed to the date with Liam  _—_ surname, Underwear Model  _—_ a man who Pansy had met in a Muggle Gardening Centre and who she insisted would be "goals" for Draco.

Groaning quietly to himself, Draco pushed open the door and almost tripped over a free standing cardboard cutout of a monkey that appeared to be offering Draco a bowl of its own liquid faeces.

A few of the diners glanced up as Draco wrestled the monkey back into place before switching their attention back to slurping pastel coloured cereal out of picnic bowls and showing each other things on their phones. Draco tried not to take this lack of interest to heart, it wasn’t as if he wanted the squishy-faced twenty somethings of Hackney observing him all evening. He repeated this to himself as he shuffled around the artfully rusted IKEA garden furniture that Cereal Monogamist favoured.

The restaurant was already full, diners packed so tightly together than many of them were sitting back-to-back. Tori Amos had been replaced by Neutral Milk Hotel and the barman was indistinguishable from the customers: buried in his own phone, apparently disinclined to make smalltalk. Or serve drinks. Hovering awkwardly, Draco pretended to be absorbed in the extensive cereal menu painted on the wall above the bar. £8 for a bowl of rice crispies seemed like a lot but Draco had always found Muggle currency a little confusing. Maybe the dish involved a few special ingredients? Possibly shavings of truffle or-

“Alright love? Do you have a reservation?” A small woman appeared at Draco’s elbow, she was still wearing a coat and Draco briefly wondered if she was just a helpful diner before noticing that her earrings were made of perspex coated cornflakes.

“Yes, I’m early.” He smiled and was pathetically grateful when she smiled back.

“And what’s the name?”

“Liam.” Pansy had insisted that the reservation be made under Liam’s name, “they’ll only call you Drake, darling, and you know how cross that makes you.” Draco did not personally believe that he looked like a Liam but the waitress’ iPad seemed to believe him as she beamed and pointed towards the back of restaurant.

“Your mate’s already here.”

“Oh. Is he?” Draco doubtfully scanned the five tables squished against the far wall. Three of them already contained couples, while the other two had people who were decidedly not Liam the Underwear Model. One of them was a tall, skinny woman with a prominent chin who was wearing turquoise headphones and the other person was... “Fuck,” said Draco. “That’s not Liam”.

“No-oh?” said the waitress, giving him an uneasy look. “That’s Harry, he introduced himself when he came in.” The words ‘unlike some people’ floated unspoken between them. To think that Draco would see the day when a Muggle was using Harry fucking Potter to lecture him about good manners.

“Obviously there’s been a mistake, I am here to meet a man called Liam.”

“Aren’t you Liam?” The waitress frowned. “The table’s reserved for Liam, I’ll have to make you a new reservation if you’re not him.” She was already reaching for her iPad and  _—_ picturing his first date in months vanishing before his eyes  _—_ Draco hurried to stop her.

“Sorry, sorry. Of course I’m Liam. I’ll just... go... over... there...” he trailed off, glaring at the top of Potter’s head. Like the rest of the diners, Potter was reading on his phone, and hadn't noticed Draco, yet. There was no cereal in front of him and maybe if Draco spoke slowly and loudly, using only small words, Potter would agree to vacate the table before Liam arrived.

“Drink?” the waitress still seemed a little suspicious of Draco’s Liam-ness.

“Please, yes. Whatever, ah, Harry is having.” The waitress disappeared and Draco squared his shoulders, only to have to immediately curl them back in as he shuffled through the tightly packed restaurant.

He was less than a foot away from Potter when he tripped over a stray rucksack. Throwing his arms out to brace himself, both Draco’s hands slammed down on Potters table and Potter jerked to attention, staring up at Draco with a slightly open mouth. As far as dramatic entrances went it was hard to beat, although given the choice Draco would have preferred to opt for a sneered “Potter” and an artfully raised eyebrow.

“Malfoy. Alright?” Potter’s startled jump had caused his glasses to slip down his nose and he nudged them back into place with a stubby finger.

“Perfectly.” Something in Draco’s back twinged as he straightened up and he decided that this conversation could be had just as easily sitting down. Slipping into the chair opposite Potter he smoothed a hand through his hair and smiled in a way that his mother said made him look ‘dashing’. “There appears to have been some confusion with my reservation I–”

“Couldn’t get one, eh?” Potter nodded sympathetically. “Took me three tries on the website, you know they’re using Java? Who does that?”

With no idea what Potter was talking about, Draco hummed his agreement before trying again. “I do have a reservation, thank you. The man I am meeting made it under his name and the waitress appears to think that he is you, or rather I am him.”

“What?” Potter smiled, shaking his head. “No this is definitely my table.”

“I can assure you, it is not.” Draco didn’t think he’d spoken out of turn, yet Potter’s head snapped up and he glared at Draco.

“This is my table, Malfoy.”

“No, my date reserved–”

“I reserved this table for my date.”

“Look.” Draco swallowed down a rush of rage, tried to choose his words carefully. “I have a date with a man called Liam. The waitress informs me that this table has been reserved under the name Liam. I am therefore waiting for my date, Liam, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could-”

“Drink.” A plastic beaker of amber liquid slapped down in front of Draco. It had cheerios floating in it and Draco looked up at the waitress in horror, only to see her place a matching beaker in front of Potter. Draco’s phone buzzed with a text as the waitress asked “Have you decided what you want to order yet?”

“No we will not be-”

“Hold up Malfoy.” Potter interrupted staring at his own phone for a moment before turning to the waitress. “We need a few more minutes, thanks.”

“Alright.” The waitress smiled at Potter and shot Draco an appraising look before moving away to serve another table as Kelis started making grand claims about the capabilities of her milkshake.

“I can assure you, Potter, that we will not be ordering any food,” said Draco. “Or at least you will not be. I will be ordering food with my date who will be here soon and I’m sure very distressed at the sight of a pint-sized saviour squatting in his seat.”

Much to Draco’s unease, Potter laughed. “Well,” he picked up his drink and held it up to Draco in a toast, “if he’s scared off by a man sitting in a chair he’s clearly not up to handling you. Seems like you’ll be better off without him.”

“Really?” said Draco. “And what about your date? What will he say when he arrives and realises that you have usurped Liam-”

“About that. My date is also with someone called Liam.”

Draco’s mouth shut with a click and pain blossomed from the tip of his tongue. He stared at Potter. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m also on a date with a man called Liam.”

“The same Liam?”

“Probably.” Potter didn’t seem especially distressed by this revelation but Draco’s stomach was in freefall.

“What,” he cleared his throat, “what makes you think that?” How many Liams were there in London? Lots, Draco decided. There must be lots. Lots of Liams who were attracted to men and liked eating cereal and had decided to arrange a date at this particular restaurant on this particular evening.

“Well it seems an unlikely coincidence,” Potter shrugged, giving voice to Draco’s uneasy musings. “But also I just got a text from Hermione,” he waved his phone, “saying that she’s sorry about the Liam thing but “you and Draco need to start getting on, for all our sakes.”” Potter’s cheeks went a bit pink as he read out the last part of the text. Draco filed that away to think about later.

“That doesn’t mean they’re the same Liam,” he tried, wincing at the doubt in his own voice. “My Liam could still be coming.”

“She also says that Pansy texted you.”

“Right,” Draco pulled out his phone, groping unseeingly for his drink as he did so. Pansy and Granger had been friends ever since they got talking at a Magical Menstruation Board Meeting but apart from a few awkward dinners there had never been any real attempt to merge the two groups. Pansy had said that she’d like it if Draco and Potter could spend more than 15 minutes in the same postcode without getting into an argument but she would never... she wouldn’t have...

 _Sorry but it really is for your own good._ The text on Draco’s phone read. _If I ever meet an underwear model called Liam I will be sure to save him for you but for now you’ll have to forgive my little deception and spend the evening making friends with Potter xxx Don’t be cross._ The text ended with a dancing woman, a cocktail, a beer, and, inexplicably, another aubergine. Draco felt sick.

“She tricked me,” he looked up at Potter. Potter grimaced and took another swallow of his drink.

“Should have known Hermione was up to something, she’s never offered to set me up before.”

“Why did they use the same name, I wonder.”

“To get us sitting at the same table?” The resignation in Potter’s voice made Draco’s shoulders feel tight.

“So you’re fine with this?” he asked.

“What?”

“Being lied to, manipulated, by your friends.”

“Steady on,” Potter sat up, glaring at Draco. “Hermione didn’t lie, she-”

“Did she tell you that she was setting you up on a date with a man called Liam?” Draco sounded like his father, he hated when that happened.

“Yes, but-”

“Allow me to introduce myself,” Draco held out a hand, Potter half reached for it before realising that Draco was joking and scowling at him, “My name is Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Draco persisted. “I am not, nor have I ever been, called Liam.”

“Look it doesn’t matter-”

“Of course it matters.” Draco blinked rapidly and swallowed. His throat clicked. “Granger lied to you and-”

“She didn’t fucking lie, alright?” Finally, Potter was looking as angry as Draco felt. If Draco kept needling him Potter would probably leave and Draco could stay, drowning himself in cheerio-cocktails before going over to hex Pansy for getting his hopes up.

As soon as the thought occurred to him Draco knew it was time to call it a night. Annoying Potter had lost its appeal a while ago, although he’d still hex Pansy, Draco decided as he stood and tossed some Muggle notes on the table.

“Where are you going?” Potter asked.

“Home.”

“We should talk.”

“Why?”

“Well...” Potter shifted in his seat. “They went to all this trouble, Hermione and Pansy, seems like we should at least-”

“We don’t have to do anything,” said Draco, fighting to keep his voice level. “We don’t owe them a thing. They are the ones who lied, dragged us out here with lies and lying promises.”

The corner of Potter’s mouth twitched. “Lies and lying promises?” he asked. “Wow, you’re really upset about this. Aren’t you?”

“Fuck off, Potter," said Draco, turning towards the door. He felt a light tug at his coat, followed by the smack of a falling cereal bowl. He didn’t look back. Behind him Potter shouted Draco’s name again and one of the diners tutted over their spilt cereal. Draco kept walking. He brushed passed the cardboard monkey, felt a sudden hitch behind his belly button, and the world went dark.

***

“Drink.” A plastic beaker of amber liquid slapped down in front of Draco. It had cheerios floating in it and Draco looked up in time to see the waitress place a matching beaker in front of Potter. Draco’s phone buzzed with a text as the waitress asked “Have you decided what you want to order yet?”

He was sitting back at the table, opposite Potter who was put down his own phone and turned to the waitress. “We need a few more minutes, thanks.”

“Alright.” The waitress smiled at Potter and glanced at Draco before moving away.

“What,” Draco blinked rapidly, gazing around him at the restaurant. He didn’t remember sitting back down. Three tables over he could see a woman offering her companion a taste from her bowl of cocoa-pops that Draco was sure he’d knocked onto the floor less than ten seconds ago. That Kelis song was playing again, wasn't someone going to skip it?

“I just got a text from Hermione,” Potter was talking to Draco. “She’s saying she lied about my date to get me here. I think she wants us to make up.”

“What. I...” Draco trailed off, frowning at Potter.

“Yeah, think she might have got Pansy in on it too.” Potter grinned ruefully and ran a hand through his hair.

“How did I get here?” Draco struggled to remember the timestamp on Pansy’s last text to him, 19.36. “What time is it?”

“Are you alright?” Potter was looking concerned.

“The time.”

“What? Oh! It’s, um,” Potter checked his phone again, “twenty to eight.” Four minutes. Surely it had been longer than four minutes. Draco must have fainted, maybe he keeled over once he stepped outside.

“Did I pass out?” Draco asked.

“No,” Potter cocked his head to the side. “You sat down and started banging on about some bloke called Liam, then the waitress brought some drinks over and Hermione texted me. Are you alright?”

“No,” Draco shook his head. “I don’t think I am. Will you cast a _Finite Incantatem_ on me?”

“Why?” Potter’s face moved from concerned to alarmed.

“Please,” Draco swallowed, rubbing his hand across his forehead. “Just cast it Potter.”

“Alright,” Potter fumbled for his wand, pointing it at Draco under the table and muttering the spell. Nothing happened. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I...” panic clawed at Draco’s chest and throat. He stood, tipping his flimsy chair over and knocking his new drink onto the floor. “I have to go.” He turned and walked towards the door. Looking over his shoulder he saw Potter start to follow, calling for Draco to wait. Shaking his head one last time, Draco brushed aside the cardboard monkey. Once again, he felt that familiar hitch behind his belly button and the world tipped 90 degrees before disappearing into darkness.

***

“Drink.” Draco looked up in time to see the waitress place a matching beaker in front of Potter. Draco’s phone buzzed with a text as the waitress asked “Have you decided what you want to order yet?”

Potter put down his own phone and turned to the waitress. “We need a few more minutes, thanks.”


	2. Chapter 2

Now despite what Lucius Malfoy, Voldemort, Aunt Bella, various Death Eaters, his Professors, some of his old school friends and even his own reflection might say: Draco Malfoy was no fool. He had read Scorpius’ favourite book: _The Troll and the Timeturner_ cover-to-cover 148 times, and he knew a time loop when he saw one.

Indeed, Blaise had been forced to relive the same eight week period for over a year before an Unspeakable had turned up at his door with a bag of grey powder in one hand and a smashed amulet in the other. Time loops were a common enough problem, the stuff of children’s games and amusing pub anecdotes. Certainly nothing to worry about. Of course this knowledge didn’t stop Draco from trying to leave the restaurant again. And again. And again.

***

After Draco gave up on being able to leave through the Cereal Monogamist door, he tried to break a window, only for Potter to intercept him and confiscate the chair. By the time Potter wrestled the chair from him the waitress was already calling the police and so Draco had to make a dash for the door and restart the time loop. In a split second he was zapped back into his chair as the waitress placed a Cheerio-cocktail in front of Draco and Potter, for the millionth time, started mumbling on about their fake date.

***

Draco then attempted to antagonise the barman into throwing him out of the restaurant, just in case there was some kind of reverse vampire situation in the mix. Unfortunately there are very few insults that a man who mixes cereal-sprinkled cocktails for a living has not heard and become impervious to. In the end Draco was reduced to sitting on top of the bar and singing an off key rendition of Hoggy Hoggy Hogwarts until the waitress cracked and escorted him outside. Which of course didn’t work and now Draco was forced to live with the knowledge that in at least one dimension Potter had witnessed him being told off by a woman wearing shoes made out of milk jugs.

***

It wasn’t until the time loop had restarted for the 27th time — following an attempt by Draco to leave the restaurant via the skylight — that Draco resigned himself to his fate. Judging by the fictional adventures of Timmy the Grumpy Troll, it was clear that the time loop Draco was currently trapped in would keep restarting until he had learnt the error of his ways and become a kind, sensitive, enlightened ~~troll~~ wizard. Which was an incredibly bitter pill to swallow as, before walking into the Cereal Monogamist, Draco had rather hoped that he’d already accomplished that transformation.

He had, after all, spent his entire 8th year as a rather anxious and irritable but well-intentioned student mentor to the young, Muggle-born Slytherins. He had composed many heartfelt letters and thoughtful playlists for everyone he harmed during the war. Luna had even gone as far as to send him _“a selection of my favourite smells”_ as a thank you and Dean Thomas had complimented Draco on his newfound passion for Muggle music. _“Although you might want to try listening to something released after 1998, just a thought.”_

And Draco hadn’t stopped at the personal apologies. The East-wing of the Malfoy estate had been turned over to St Mungo's as a teaching school and the Malfoy family donated to a number of Muggle-born support programs. Draco had made sure to protect Scorpius from blood-politics and serial killers. He was on good terms with his ex-wife and all his ex-partners. Every Christmas without fail he sent a box of Prestat truffles to his Muggle publisher and a box of Longbottom candied fruit to his Magical publisher. He made sure to purchase Scorpius a free-range owl for his first year at Hogwarts and he always remembered to take the recycling out.

In short, Draco really had been working long and hard to make up for his mistakes and prove himself to be a decent person and–

“Malfoy? Malfoy? Malfoy? Malfoy. Malfoy. Malfoy. Fucking Malfoy.” Potter’s arms were folded and his eyebrows had retreated into his fringe. This was the longest Draco had managed to go before restarting the time loop — 11 minutes by the clock on his phone — and Potter looked like he’d been talking for a while. “You back with me?”

“What?”

“I said,” Potter enunciated slowly, “Are. You. OK? Do. I. Need. To. Call. A. Healer-”

“Oh do fuck off Potter.”

“Well I don’t know,” Potter ran a hand through his hair. “Did you even hear anything I said about Hermione? Or are you too busy thinking about _Liam_?” He made Liam’s name sound like a rude word and Draco puffed up indignantly, only to deflate when he remembered that Liam was nothing more than a figment of Pansy’s diseased imagination.

“Yes, I heard you,” he said. “Hermione and Pansy tricked us both into a date with someone called Liam so that we could forge a bond over our inability to choose decent friends.”

“Well it’s not quite that bad,” said Potter. “Not for me, at least.”

“Excuse me?”

“Just that Hermione’s never done this before.”

“Neither has Pansy.”

“Yeah, but Hermione wouldn’t do it without a really good reason.”

“Neither would Pansy. Do you think that we Slytherins go around constantly manipulating and deceiving each other?”

“No,” Potter hedged, taking another swallow of his drink and grimacing as a Cheerio bobbed against his nose. “No, I know that Slytherins... are... nice... I’m just saying that you’re wrong, Hermione is a good friend.”

“So is Pansy.”

“Yeah I’ve got that, can we move on?”

“Well that depends, do you have any other prejudices you would like to air?”

“Cereal cafes are fucking stupid?”

Draco laughed before his brain caught up to the fact that he was laughing at _Potter’s_ joke. He tried to stop but new giggles kept running through him and he had to take a deep swallow of his Cheerio-cocktail.

“Urgh,” he slammed the beaker down. “These drinks are abominable, what are they?”

“Cheertinis.” Potter swirled the last few soggy Cheerios sitting at the bottom of his glass. “I asked for a recommendation and then I got embarrassed when she asked if I liked it and ordered another.”

“Well you’re certainly drinking them with gusto,” Draco observed. Potter shrugged in answer and gazed around the cafe, playing absentmindedly with his fringe.

“So...” he said, green eyes floating back to Draco. “Should we have a chat, then? You know, to please Hermione and Pansy.”

A chat really was the last thing Draco wanted. Potter still looked uncomfortable at the thought and after so much time lopping all Draco really wanted to do was curl up on the sofa with a glass of wine and some non-cereal based snacks.

“Come on Malfoy,” Potter had obviously taken Draco’s silence for dissent. “We’ll catch each other up on the kids, take a selfie for Hermione... and Pansy” he quickly added, “and be done with the whole thing.”

Although he very much doubted that a nice chat and a selfie — perish the thought — would be enough to escape the time loop, Draco nodded. “Very well. Tell me, how are your children?”

Potter beamed and began happily burbling on about James’ last Quidditch game as Draco immediately allowed his mind to wander.

He was definitely the only person caught in the time loop. No one else had tried to leave since Draco arrived and he was fairly sure that he’d recognise the wide-eyed look of panic if any of them had been jolted back in time. Just because Malfoy’s were trained to wrestle their expressions into submission from the crib didn’t mean that everyone had that habit.

Sensing a pause in Potter’s story, Draco scrambled to retrace the last few sentences. Something about Scorpius and Al both starting Hogwarts.

“Yes, nice for them to be sorted together,” he said. “Scorpius talks about Al all the time. Dotes on the boy.”

“Really?” Potter frowned. “I didn’t think they were friends.”

“Well clearly I was being facetious, Potter” Draco snapped, making a mental note to warn Scorpius to stop talking about Albus.

“Alright,” the fluffy-haired fool didn’t look especially bothered by Draco’s tone. “I think Al would like them to be friends, although he’ll kill me for saying it.”

“Were those his exact words?”

Potter frowned. “Well he–”

“Wait,” Draco held up a hand, cutting Potter off halfway through. “Don’t tell me. I shouldn’t have asked, Scorpius would kill me too,” he tried to smile but felt it warp into a grimace, Potter grimaced back.

“It’s rubbish, isn’t it? How anxious having kids makes you?”

“Completely vile” said Draco.

“Ready to order?” The waitress had returned. She was wearing a handknitted scarf now — it really was abominably cold — and it took a few moments for Draco to realise that the wobbly grey pattern on it was supposed to be breakfast spoons.

“May we see the menu?” he asked, fighting off a shiver.

“No menus,” she cheerfully informed him. “It’s a surprise selection tonight.”

“Oh, what does that mean?” Draco tried to keep his tone light but Potter’s shoulders were shaking and the waitress’ smile slipped.

“It _means_ that you choose the colour of the bowl you want and the chef creates a specially tailored menu for you.”

“Sounds good,” said Potter, his face was rather red and his shoulders were still shaking, yet he managed to sound completely genuine as he asked the waitress if there was a specific colour of bowl she would recommend.

“Well it really depends on how you’re feeling,” she explained, wrapping her arms around herself and bobbing on the spot. “Is there a colour you feel strongly about?”

“Yes, Potter,” Draco jumped into the conversation, fighting off another shiver at the thought of consuming a cold bowl of mystery cereal, “is there a colour you usually favour? Maybe to exclusion of all others? Hmmm?”

“Funny you should ask, Draco,” Potter's eyes twinkled as he turned towards Draco. “I’ve actually always been a bit partial to green.”

“Is that so?” Draco glared at Potter. “Green?”

“That’s right,” Potter smiled.

“Green? That’s what you’re partial to? Green?”

“Yes, Draco. I’ve always felt a certain–”

“So green, then?” the waitress made a note on her iPad and turned to Draco. “And what about you, Liam?”

“Oh Liam likes green too,” Potter jumped in before Draco could reply.

“Right then,” the waitress tapped something rapidly into her iPad, “two greens coming up.”

Draco grimaced his thanks and waited until she had moved away to the next table before swinging round to glare at Potter.

“What are you up to?” he asked.

“Isn’t that my line?”

“Beg pardon?”

Potter screwed up his face and squeaked “”Malfoy’s up to something!”” that’s me in 6th year,” he continued in his normal voice, beaming across at Draco. “Always following you around, asking what you’re up to. Remember?”

“Potter. I... I’m sorry but... are you... are you trying to reminisce about the time I spent attempting to murder our headmaster?”

Potter flushed and his grin disappeared. “Um. No? Well, maybe a bit.”

“Why?”

“Well... you’re always so uptight about that time and I thought maybe if I made a joke out of it then...” Potter trailed off and blinked earnestly at Draco.

“Right,” said Draco, swallowing down the pang he felt at how quickly the conversation had gone downhill. “What about when you tried to murder me? Shall we also have a chuckle over that delightful period?”

“No. I don’t know. I am sorry about that.” Potter blinked even more furiously.

“I know,” said Draco, casting around for a distraction. “Do you,” he licked his lips, unsure if the question he'd been dying to ask since the waitress interrupted them would salvage or sink the conversation even further, “do you find yourself constantly angry on your children’s behalf?”

“Um. Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Scorpius doesn’t remember half the children who were mean to him at nursery,” Draco hurried to explain. “I, however, might as well have their names carved on my heart.”

Potter chuckled and shook his head, “Bit gruesome, Malfoy, but you’re not wrong. When Lily was three one of Luna’s twins told her that the only reason she could understand anything was because there was a fish living in her ear, whispering all the words to her.”

“What was her response to this revelation?”

“She got worried that the fish was hungry,” Potter shuddered. “Took us three trips to St. Mungos before all the rice crispies were scooped out of her ear. I still have both those twins on my shitlist.”

“Potter,” Draco leant forward. “You have a horror story like that, and yet you accepted an invitation to a restaurant that serves only cereal? My man, how desperate are you?” Potter's surprised laughter attracted a glare from the tall woman at the table next to them.

“Very, I guess.” He didn’t _look_ desperate, loose limbed and grinning easily across the table at Draco. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Which poor children do you have a grudge against?”

“Oh, all of them.” Potter laughed again and Draco smiled in return. “Well, most of my rage is reserved for the students at Klanghorn Cottage Primary School.” Potter nodded in recognition and Draco continued. “Scorpius was already bigger than the other children when he joined Klanghorn and children... well... they’re very cruel, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, they can be horrible little fuckers. Guess we know all about that,” Potter gestured between the two of them, offering Draco another grimace, “‘s much worse when it’s your own kids though. What did you do about it? The kids who were mean to Scorpius?”

“Not a lot,” Draco admitted, settling further back in his seat. Potter managed to make the rusty garden furniture look like it was made for lounging but the ridges of Draco’s spine immediately began to ache. He sat up again. “I told Scorpius that he was a beautiful boy who was going to make a first class Beater,” he continued. “Then I had a word with the teacher, and banned mother from talking about diets.”

“That’s... was she alright with that?” Potter had a rather odd expression on his face.

“She had to be.”

“Ah.” Potter nodded. “Well I know what that’s like,” he cheerfully slapped his own beer belly and smiled across at Draco. “Hopefully Scorpius is having an easier time of it now that he’s at Hogwarts? Al hasn’t mentioned any name calling.”

“Alright?” The waitress reappeared, carrying two green bowls. “Here you go,” she carefully placed the fuller bowl in front of Harry, “and for you” she banged the smaller bowl down in front of Draco.

“I thought we’d be given the same dish?” said Draco, eyeing the multicoloured contents of Potter’s bowl. His own bowl was half-full of browny-grey mush.

“It’s based on your personality as well,” the waitress explained. “Not just the colour you picked.”

“But you know nothing about us,” Draco argued, prodding at the mush.

“She’s already gone.” Potter’s voice was muffled and, when Draco glanced up, both his cheeks were bulging with cereal.

“Did you drink straight from the bowl?” Draco asked.

Potter nodded and swallowed, wincing as he did. “That’s rough as fuck. Looks pretty but you can tell it’s supermarket own brand.”

“Would you like to try some soggy mattress filling?” Draco offered, nudging his own bowl across the table.

“Alright,” Potter reached across and took a large spoonful, chewed it for a few seconds and then gazed at Draco in complete horror. “This is rank.”

“Indeed.”

“Really rank.”

“I do not doubt it.”

The corner of Potter’s mouth twitched. “Do you want some of my brightly coloured glass?”

“No thank you.”

“Right then.” Potter downed the last of his drink and then went back to staring in dismay at the two bowls of equally inedible cereal. “This is probably £30 worth of cereal we’ve fucked up the ordering of.”

His expression was so mournful that, with a great sigh, Draco stood and marched towards the door. Maybe 28 would be the magic number to break the time loop, he reflected as he reached out to touch the cardboard monkey. And if it wasn’t at least Potter could order a less obnoxious bowl of cereal.


	3. Chapter 3

Much to Draco’s consternation, it did not seem to matter what colour bowl he and Potter ordered. Red, blue, yellow, purple, green, every colour resulted in Potter gazing mournfully down at a bowl of inedible food. Although an upside to the five time loops it took to work through all their options was that Draco did become a great deal more familiar with the Cereal Monogamist cocktail range. Feeling slightly sick and very sticky, Draco stumbled to the door to restart the time loop for the 32nd time and-

***

“Drink.” The waitress placed matching beakers on the table. “Have you decided what you want to order yet?”

Potter put down his phone and opened his mouth to speak.

“If I may.” Draco held up a hand. “I am aware that we ordered Cheertinis but would it be possible to change our drinks to a Sugar Puff Sour for Potter and a Honey-Nut Cluster Fuck for myself?”

“Of course love,” said the waitress, scooping up the rejected Cheertinis. “Just so you know we’ve got a surprise selection menu tonight. You choose a bowl colour and the chef creates a meal specially tailored to match your personality.”

“Delightful.” Draco suppressed an eyeroll. “We’ll take two of the green bowls, please.”

“Great, I’ll be back in a few minutes with the drinks.”

Potter waited until the waitress was out of earshot before turning to Draco. “I thought you hadn’t been here before?”

“Well.” Draco shrugged. “I do dine out a good deal and the menu is fairly intuitive...”

“Really?” Potter leant forward. “You’re finding the menu that doesn’t exist easy to understand?”

“What can I say, Potter? That I am extremely impressive? That I do rather relish an intellectual challenge? That I have a natural affinity for-”

“Why did you pick green bowls?”

“I... you didn’t want green?”

“Don’t know, do I.” Potter grinned, he seemed to be doing that a lot. “Didn’t really have a chance to make up my mind. Might have wanted to go for my old house colours or something.”

“Really,” said Draco, arching an eyebrow and wishing, just for a moment, that there was some way he could record this particular time loop and force Potter to watch it back with him. Maybe a pensieve? But then Potter might want to see the rest of the time loops and that would be...

The realisation that he could say whatever he wanted to Potter without worrying about it being used against him sank into Draco’s mind like a dollop of butter into a hot jacket potato.

“-I think they want us to get on.” Potter finished explaining that they’d been set up on fakes dates with the same fake Liam, apparently unaware that Draco was having a moment.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Hmm? Of course. What is it like to die?” Draco winced even as he was asking the question. “Sorry, that is not, ah. Sorry. Please, do not answer.”

“I wasn’t planning to.” Potter had stopped smiling, his posture rigid, dark eyebrows drawn together. “What the fuck, Draco. That’s a really shitty question to ask anyone, especially on a date I-” He cut himself off.

“A date?” asked Draco, scrambling for a distraction. Why on Earth had he asked about death? He had absolutely zero interest in hearing about Potter’s lonely journey into the Forbidden Forest. Well maybe not _zero_ interest but- “This is not a date.”

“I know.” Potter interrupted, frown still in place.

“I can assure you that if this were a date I would be behaving very differently.”

“I’m sure you would, moving on-”

“There would enticing anecdotes, Potter. I am an excellent date. There would be wooing and-”

“I do not give a shit, Draco. Why are you asking questions like that? You barely talk to me and then as soon as we spend more than ten minutes together that’s what you ask? Is this... Is this _why_ you don’t talk to me?” Potter pressed forward again, elbows back on the table. “I know you’re not a blood-bigot any more but-”

“Thank you for endorsing my hard-won non-bigoted status.” Draco interrupted, pushing as much ice as possible into his voice. “As you appear to already be aware of my motivations without the need to actually check any of your assumptions with me and I must confess myself to be at a loss as to why you suddenly feel the need to do so now.”

“Wow, you really do get a thousand times posher when you’re on the back foot.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You asked me about what it’s like to die, thanks for that, and I asked you why you wanted to know.” Potter pressed even further forward, his right hand almost touching Draco’s cuff and the rusty table digging into his belly.

“Don’t do that,” said Draco.

“Do what? Point out that you’re a dickhead? Because that’s not exactly a secret.”

“No, don’t hurt yourself.” Draco nodded to where the table was biting into Potter’s stomach. Frowning, Potter looked down.

“It doesn’t hurt. It’s just a table.”

“Oh. Good.”

“Here you go.” The waitress was back, carrying their new cocktails and two matching green bowls. It was the first time that they’d been given bowls the same size. The contents of the bowls were the same — glass for Potter, mush for Draco — but at least they now had the same amount of inedible food.

They sat in silence as the waitress moved to the next table, Potter having already tasted and given up on his bright, pointy cereal.

“So,” said Potter. “Why are you worried about me hurting myself?”

“Hmm? Oh.” Draco was still distracted by being given a normal sized bowl. Was the time loop slipping? Was this what he had to do to escape? Somehow prove that he deserved a proper bowl of cereal and- “these tables are dangerous.” He heard himself respond to Potter’s question. “One scratch would be enough for blood poisoning to set in.”

“They’re not that bad, are they?” Potter ducked his head to examine the table.

“No, it’s just that, ah... Scorpius, he...”

“Yeah?”

“He isn’t very fond of his, um, shape.” Draco continued, reminding himself that Potter had already shown himself sympathetic to Scorpius. He might even have some advice and he wouldn’t remember the conversation, anyway. “Sometimes he isn’t as careful of himself as he should be.”

“That’s rough.” Potter’s eyes were bright. “I’m not like that, but I can see why someone would be. ‘Specially at Hogwarts with all those skinny Quidditch players.” He smiled at Draco, who felt his face flood with heat. “Maybe Scorpius would like to come to Edinburgh with me and Al sometime? Al’s not settling in as well as James did and I’ve been going up there to take him out now and then.”

Draco tried to imagine what it would have been like if his parents had done something similar, especially during his 5th and 6th years.

“That’s very kind of you.” He said, his voice feeling scratchy. “I will suggest it to Scorpius.”

“Yeah, do that.”

They sat in silence, taking occasional sips of their drinks. The buzz of the alcohol was starting to take the edge off the cold, although every exhale still sent a cloud of steam into the room.

“This cereal is rank,” said Potter, who had started eating again. “Can I try yours?”

“Be my guest.” Draco pushed his own bowl across the table, hiding a smile when Potter’s face twisted into a now familiar expression of horror.

“This is rank too. Fucks sake. Who thinks of these things?”

“I believe it’s part of the Muggle council’s scheme to rejuvenate the local economy.”

“Not that.” Potter dismissed Draco’s pre-date research with a wave of his hand. “I meant what kind of idiot picks a cereal cafe for a first date?”

“Liam the fictitious Underwear Model, apparently.”

“Underwear model?” Potter cocked his head. “Hermione told me that Liam was a firefighter, wonder why.”

“Why you were given a firefighter and I was given an underwear model? Presumably a misguided attempt on the part of Granger and Pansy to predict the kind of man we would find most appealing.” A small sour feeling was starting to uncurl in Draco’s chest. It shouldn’t be surprising that Potter, the ultimate Gryffindor, would prefer a man of action.

“Misguided”? You’re saying you wouldn’t prefer an underwear model?” the expression of discomfort on Potter’s face suggested that his mouthful of spikey cereal was especially pointy.

“Not really.” Draco reached forward to play with the stem of his near-empty cocktail glass. “I have nothing against underwear models, I just... I, ah, I find myself uncomfortable around people who are required to place a great deal of value on their physical appearance.”

“Vain people, you mean?”

“Not at all. Caring about the way one looks and presents oneself to the world does not automatically equate to vanity, at least in my opinion.” Draco ran his fingers through his hair, making sure it was still on the artful side of tousled. “I suppose I spent a lot of my childhood fixating on being seen to do the right things, be the right way. Judging people like the Weasleys on their clothes, rather than their actions. For example.” Draco had already had this conversation with Ron but how much of it had been related back to Potter was unclear. Probably not a lot, judging by Potter’s startled expression. “When I first met you, in Madam Malkin’s, I dismissed you as a scruffy little nobody. Later, when things were rather difficult, I found myself wondering how things might have been different. If we might not have been friends, or at least avoided becoming enemies. Had I been able to see past your and Ron’s shabby clothes and family names.”

“Oh, right. That’s-”

“Of course this business with Scorpius has reinforced that wariness.” Draco hurried on. “People who are overly concerned with their appearance are not... they do not seem...”

“Safe?”

“Yes.” Draco cleared his throat. “A firefighter on the other hand.” He smiled, it felt a bit wobbly but at least Potter smiled back. “Now that I can see the appeal of.”

“Really? Why’s that?” Something about Potter’s easy grin made another wave of heat rush through Draco.

“Daring doing, muscular men rescuing babies and kittens, what’s not to like?”

“Right.” Potter grinned even wider and Draco felt himself grinning back.

“Don’t you agree?” he asked, feeling rather lightheaded.

“Hmm.” Potter hummed, playing with his glass. “I suppose. Personally I’d be keener on the underwear model.”

“Oh? Why is that? I had thought you Gryffindors far too noble to be swayed by a bit of totty in a g-string.”

“Well, well, look who is “fixating on the physical” now.”

“Ha!” Draco barked a laugh, watching breathlessly as Potter laughed back. “I suppose I should have known better than to think that the Boy Who Lived would be so shallow. Go on, then. What is it about Liam the Underwear Model that you prefer to Liam the Firefighter?”

“Dunno.” Potter sat back, rubbing a hand over his stubbly chin. “Guess I’ve got a bit of experience when it comes to be judged on the physical.”

“Your scar?” Draco nodded. “It is incredibly unsightly.”

“Oh fuck you.” Potter laughed. “Yes the scar, old scarhead over here." He fixed Draco with a meaningful look. Draco ducked his head, still smiling. “But also the weight thing. Turns out people prefer their “saviours” skinny and malnourished.”

“People are fools.”

“I think so.”

They smiled at each other. It was intolerable.

“So,” said Draco, dragging his eyes away from Potter. “You picture yourself and Liam the Underwear Model commiserating over the superficial nature of the general public, followed by-”

“A quick tug in the bathroom?”

Another laugh burst from Draco, loud enough to attract the attention of the nearby tables.

“I was going to suggest a candlelit bowl of Frosties but apparently you and Liam the Underwear Model move faster than myself and Liam the Firefighter.”

“You and Liam the Firefighter saving it for the third date?”

“Saving the public indecency? No, no. I imagine we’ll find time to fit that in.” Draco smiled, delighting in the way Potter’s shoulders shook as he laughed.

Laughter also brought out the creases around Potter’s eyes, making him look older and more touchable at the same time. The observation sent a thrill through Draco and he leant forward, resolving to have another go at asking Potter a few consequence-free questions.

“When did you realise you preferred men to women?” Not the most subtle phrasing but if the time loop was coming to an end — and the matching cereal bowls suggested it was — then Draco had no interest in faffing about.

“Probably 5th year,” Potter readily replied. “It was during the Triwizard Tournament. Cedric suggested that I pay a visit to the Prefects Bathroom, for a bath, you know and-”

“Diggory propositioned you?” Draco interrupted.

“No.” Potter flashed Draco a rueful grin. “It was to help me work out those golden eggs we got. The way he phrased it made it sound like a bit of a come-on, though, and I suppose after the egg opened I realised I hadn’t really minded the idea that it was one. A come-on. What about you?”

“Before Hogwarts, I was maybe four or five.” Draco responded absent-mindedly, his attention still focused on the idea of Potter making illicit use of the Prefects Bathroom. The cheek of the man.

“What sparked it?”

“Hmm?” this meant that Potter had used the Prefects Bathroom before Draco. Even though Draco actually _was_ a Prefect and therefore should have been the first to-

“Draco? Still with me?”

“So you’re gay?” Draco’s brain came back online with a bump.

“Meh.” Potter shrugged. “It’s usually more about the person.”

“Pansexual?”

“Probably, why are you asking?”

“Who was your first male crush? Diggory?”

“What is this?”

“Answer the question, Potter.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy.”

Their voices had risen with each exchange and they were now glaring at each other, hands gripping the table and breath coming heavily.

“Look,” said Potter, dragging in a heavy breath and making a visible effort to relax. “I don’t know why you’re asking all this and it’s not really any of your business. But if you’re finally ready to talk about this thing." He gestured between the two of them, “then I am, too. I’ve been ready. Yes, I fancied you at school and I quite fancy you now. What about you?”

“I... Um...” Draco swallowed, staring at Potter. “I...”

“You’re not ready.” Potter’s shoulders slumped and he sat back. “Ok.”

“What, um... what is this “thing” that you’re referring to?” Draco asked, his voice came out much lower than usual.

“The flirting? The sexual tension? You really haven’t seen it?”’

“Well, I... you’re an attractive man, Potter.” Draco’s mind darted back-and-forth, collecting all the different parts of his post-war relationship with Potter and trying to assemble them into a scenario where this made sense. “I can’t say that I have... not that I wouldn’t... I...”

“Please stop.” Potter grimaced. “I’m sorry, when you started asking who I fancied at school I thought... Yeah, never mind. Let’s leave it, yeah?”

“No.” Draco responded quickly, reaching across to tap Potter’s knuckles. “I don’t want to stop I just...”

“It’s seriously fine,” said Potter, moving the tapped hand away from Draco and signalling for the waitress. “Don’t worry about it, I-”

“No! Just, just hold for a minute,” said Draco, standing up and making for the door.

“Draco? Where are you going?”

Potter had called after Draco every time Draco tried to leave the Cereal Monogamist, this was the first time Draco had felt tempted to stay.

“I’m going to fix this.” He said, half-turning to look at Potter.

“Fix what?”

“This entire conversation. I’m going to fix it and come back with an answer that doesn’t make your face do that.”

“Ok? So you are coming back?” The hopeful expression on Potter’s face made it impossible Draco to answer, instead he nodded and reached for the restaurant door, closing his eyes as a familiar tug behind his belly button signalled the start of another time loop.


End file.
